Not anatomically impossible. Sorry, Rookie

When we were young, we played baseball in Gram's field. It was plenty big until someone (maybe Carlos) bashed a homer that sailed into the driveway. Then Dad made us switch to softball.

One of the regular participants was Rookie, the older brother of one of my brother's friends. I was the younger brother of one of his brother's friends.

One day, while on second base, Rookie accused one of the defenders of spitting on him.

He was not believed, and somehow it eventually came to be a joke that he had somehow peed on his own back. Yes, that was anatomically impossible, but we were little boys who found it hilarious.

I started thinking of the incident earlier this week after peeing on my back. Granted, I was lying down, not standing at second base, but still.

It began innocently enough. I woke up to go to the bathroom, but when I moved my legs to use urinal, the leg fell off the bed.

This was fine til midway through the, hum, emptying of the bladder.

At that point, the foot that was dangling off the bed, touched my cold chair.

With the speed of a pinch runner stealing third, the leg shot straight up, upsetting my use of the urinal. Pee shot everywhere, even my back.

With my sister's help, I changed everything and got in my wheelchair for the rest of the night.

On my own, I began thinking of Rookie.

It's not me

Today a biker wave at me. I didn't recognize her, but that happens a lot.

The other day while waiting for a ride, I noticed this woman keep looking over at me.

Now, if I were delusional, I'd think I am the shit (sorry, Mom). i mean I am, but these people re waving/looking at Fame.

Happy go lucky

As much as I enjoy annoying my sister by telling her people think I am awesome. This was too much for me.

A friend told a sister-in-law who told Mom that I was happy go lucky. Me!

I do think I am cheerful mostly outside of family. I'd argue that even in the family I am rarely a total jerk--when I am grumpy, I usually stay in my room. But I am afraid of what my sister would do to me if I made that argument so I am super grumpy all the time at home.

I find it funny how I come across to non-relatives.

Geronimo and I

Geronimo has been on my mind lately. Not the real Indian but the Marx toy from my youth.

Most action figures these days have one or two accessories. He came with 37! (And quick rebuttal to those who mock my collectibles: Those accessories sell for about $4 a piece.)

The reason I have been thinking about him is not because I want to get him out of storage (I do, though, him and trusty steed Buckskin) but because I have accessories, too.

And I don't mean belts and jewelry. I think I have two belts and one ring, none of which I wear.

I asked a colleague why she was not at a work-sponsored workshop I thought she was attending. She told me, and asked why I wasn't.

Too many accessories, I said, both quantity than mass.

I  have crap that I need if I go somewhere.

A lift, shower chair, hearing aids, pills, cushion covers, urinals, accessible van, dog stuff ... and that's just of the top of my head and just the disability-related stuff. Also only the inanimate stuff. I need human help, too.

All that, and I don't even get a trusty steed.

Damnation Imagination

I have not been able to fall asleep at a reasonable hour recently, so I have been reading a fair number of comic books on my iPad. These days the 90s' Miss Marvel, featuring the 25-30-year-old Carol Danvers. (As opposed to the current Miss Marvel, which stars a teen.)

In the book, Carol goes on dates.

Given this and my late-night reading schedule, it was perhaps inevitable that one night I would dream about going on a date with the superhero.

I did, and accessibility issues, like stairs, become a thing of the pat when your date can lift a power chair with a pinkie. Parking? Psshaw. Carol will just fly us to dinner and the movies.

But ... I am in a wheelchair? Come on. I can dream about a super-strong, flying woman. Me out of a chair, though, that apparently is a bridge too far.

Cinder-Matty

Try as I might, I cannot get the old jump-rope rhyme about Cinderella out of my head.

Cinderella, dressed in yella
Went upstairs to kiss a fella
On the way her girdle busted
How many people were disgusted?

See, I am wearing what is called an abdominal binder but is essentially a girdle.

It holds my trunk muscles in place and is supposed to provide me with a little stability.

It seems to be working, but I still say that stupid rhyme i my head multiple times a day.

It does make me feel like Cinderella and I have something in common, and raises the question, "Did Cinderella have Friedreich's ataxia?

Not as good as a comic

Allow me to rewrite a scene from Born Again, the awesome Daredevil story, starring me.

In Born Again, Daredevil's alter ego more or less has a mental collapse. The Kingpin helps, but the character falls apart. And at one point, after he escapes certain death, he is wandering New York. He gets hit by a car and later stabbed. You see him bent over, gritting his teeth, and he thinks:

"It's not just the knife wound -- it's that rib of mine that popped like a wishbone when the Kingpin slugged me -- it had the decency to stay where it belongs -- until that car hit me ..."

He then goes on to save the city and reunite with his hot girlfriend.

In my rewrite, I am always on the edge of a mental break.

 "It's not just the Friedreich's ataxia   -- it's that rib of mine that popped like a wishbone when I fell over the arm of my chair and whacked it on my iPhone -- it had the decency to get better -- until I rammed my chest into my keyboard tray at work."

For the record my rib didn't "popped like a wishbone." But that sounds better than bruised/cracked.

I am pretty confident I will not save the city and reunite with a hot girlfriend.

Stupid ears

This happened Tuesday, and I decided it is an apt microcosm for my life.

I have decided I should use my microphone more. It works when I am with just one person but have been disappointed with its failure to help in meetings. My audiologist did not expect this either. Of course, she also told me very authoritatively that my problem was the auditory nerve, which sounds reasonable.

However, after my neurology appointment I am pretty sure  my auditory nerve is normal. The fairly unique problem in FA hearing loss is the connection between the brain and the auditory nerve. It is messed up. She could have learned this is she called the neurologist as I suggested. But  I digress.

To force my use of the mic, I put it on my lanyard. to make sure it doesn't drop in the toilet, I take my lanyard off when sitting down. However, this raises the prospect of the lanyard knocking out a hearing aid. Which happened.

Fortunately, it did not fall in the toilet, just on the ground.

My shoe then pushed it into the other stall, so unreachable to me. Fame could have gotten it, but I am told dogs eat hearing aids.

So I had to go find someone to get my hearing aid.

But the hearing aid was still out, which makes it kind of pointless to use the mic.

No comparison

I hate Friedreich's ataxia ... still.

The latest issue, which is by no means new, is that I am comparing myself with my brother, who does more manually.

I might be able to do more, but I don't have to. And when I try, I usually fail.

FA is so personal that what I can do, he may not be able to do. And vice versa.

Hate it.

Not sullen

A few years ago, a friend asked how old the niece and nephew I live with were.

Eleven and 12, I told her.

Well, you still have a few years before they become jerks, she said, not that she had met them. She just meant before they become stereotypical sullen teens.

They have not become sullen. None of my nephews or nieces have ever been sullen to me, a factor I have attributed my siblings' parenting, my cluelessness or awesomeness. Take your pick.

But now, I need to reevaluate.

It could still be my awesomeness. Who am I kicked? That doesn't fade. I suppose it could still be cluelessness. My siblings, though? Not part of the latest good teen story.

A friend of my niece's is living with us this year.

I coughed at breakfast Saturday and spilled some tea.

She got up, and I thought I had driven her off.

Instead, she got up, got some paper towels and took care o the spillage.

Bad year

I had a recurrence of A-fib on Monday. We called the cardiologist, and she wasn't concerned. We went in Tuesday, and we decided it was probably because I was dehydrated.

So all is good, but lordy, do I hate 2018.

I loathe cold weather but wouldn't at all mind if it was January 2019.

We're nine months into the year. For six, I have had issues with my heart or the meds they gave me to fix my heart. For one month, I was without my chair. That leaves January and February when it cold, gloomy, depressing.

What next?